Photos - Our new abode

Hello everyone... just posted some photos of our new place. We're now staying at my boss's place with 7 other housemates, some birds, fish AND... a table tennis table! How could I not love the place :)

http://picasaweb.google.com/torsten.herbst/20101128AsylumDownHouse#5544614859124176386

Hope everyone's well back home, Kwame & Abena

Photos - Cape Coast

Visited Cape Coast and Elmina castle on the long weekend. Both castles were at the center of the slave trade from West Africa to the Americas which saw between 15-25 million slaves taken from their home countries under inhumane conditions. For those interested in some more history you can follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atlantic_Slave_Trade

And here's the link to our photos... http://picasaweb.google.com/torsten.herbst/20101114CapeCoast#5542292555540655858

Ghana music 2

We were in for a treat last night. At the closing night of a music festival at Alliance Francaise, we enjoyed the smooth beats of Afrobeat legend Tony Allen. He was supported by a couple of rappers/singers from Guinea called Degg J Force 3:
http://www.deggjforce3.com/

Abena

So sweet...

So here's a quick wrap of my morning today... got up, checked my emails and the news, then did a quick workout in the house gym, which is essentially just a bench press and some dumbbells. Walked out of the gym and decided to ask one of the other guys in the house if they're keen on a game of table tennis. Turns out the reigning number two 'house champion' is always up for the challenge so we played a game in the morning sun, which to my surprise I won (bring on the house champion!!). Then I quickly jumped into the shower before firing up Skype to talk to Sylvia and my two little nephews - well, mainly I talked to Sylvia, while Jaden frantically waived his hands at the camera (which was highly entertaining) and Robin, well, not quite sure what he was doing... crawling around the floor mainly, and wondering why his mum was lifting him up to the glary screen every now and then. Once we had finished the conversation I had run out of time for breakfast and since we just moved into the new place we don't really have any supplies yet anyway. So what to do... well, this is where Ghana really shines: Walked around the corner on my way to work and discovered a lady pressing fresh oranges by the roadside, so I stopped by and had a glass of fresh orange juice in shade of the almond tree. Then I continued on along the road and bumped into a lady carrying pawpaw on her head. Being everything but poor poor, I bought one. Continued along and bumped into another lady selling beautiful golden bananas of which I bought a couple. I could have purchased a pineapple and watermelon from two other ladies, but declined the offer. Passed my coconut vendor in front of my office and told him that I had already had some orange juice but promised to come by in the afternoon. Walked into the office and prepared myself a fruit salad. So now I'm sitting here happy as a dog with two tails, thinking Ghana's got to be the best place in he world!

Photos - Wli Waterfalls in the Volta Region

Went on an excursion this weekend to the Wli Waterfalls in the Volta region. It's a beautiful region with lush green vegetation, wild bananas, papayas and pineapples and friendly locals in the most serene and tranquil corner of Ghana. Click on the link below to see the photos...

http://picasaweb.google.com/torsten.herbst/20101107VoltaRegionWliWaterfalls#5537071308013944802

Photos - Life in Accra

About time for another round of photos. This time a somewhat random collection of pictures we took over the last couple of weeks. Enjoy...

http://picasaweb.google.com/torsten.herbst/Test#5534320852343026674

Ghana Talk

Walking around the streets of our neighbourhood in Labadi most people like to greet us.

“Hello”, “Good afternoon, how are you? I’m fine”, “Where are you going?”, “white lady/man”, “give me one cedi” are some of things we hear.

Kids chase us for several yards calling out “obruni obruni obruni”. They also walk with us for a few meters (or for as long as we let them) holding our hands and, if given the chance, they hug us. The adulation is a little disconcerting at first and you wonder why they treat us so. Is it what they see on TV? My supervisor’s explanation sounded a little obscure: Jesus is depicted as a white man and so, by virtue of skin colour, all white (and relatively white) people are blessed.

The men are also somewhat friendlier than back home. “I love you” shouts a stonemason I pass every morning. I wave politely and shout back a “thank you”. My reserved Western upbringing somehow prevents me from returning his affections. The following week, he accepts my daily walk past his shop as a positive sign and our relationship moves up a level, “marry me”, he shouts. Again, I wave politely but this time reply, “no thank you”. My objection made no difference; since his proposal, his morning greetings have been “My wife, how are you?”

Abena

Another tro tro story

“Please” the lorry station master indicated to the last remaining seat. I hesitated for a moment: the half bent seat was already occupied by another man but apparently if I squeezed myself in it was worthy of a full fare. The seat at the back of the van was bent in such a way that I could fall out the backdoor at any moment. The station master reassured me by showing me a small latch that held the door to the rest of the car.

It’s amazing how quickly your standards drop when you adapt to your environment. I jumped into the van wrapping my fingers around the seat beside me for security. I prayed that someone would disembark soon so I could claim their seat before we got to the highway where the driver would accelerate to 100km/hr.

Ten minutes into the journey, the sky turned black and the wind picked up. A storm was brewing but it didn’t take long before the clouds broke loose and torrential rain came down. The wind and rain beat the van ferociously as the passengers on board struggled to close the windows. The door barely shielded me from the rain and the roof started to leak. The kind man I was plastered next to pulled out his rain jacket and covered my legs. Another gentleman tried to hold up the carpeting on the ceiling of the van to stop it from leaking on me. I smiled with gratitude trying to take no notice of a leak behind me that was travelling down my back and into my underwear.

But getting wet was the last of my worries. My eyes were fixed at the driver who skillfully carried on with NO WIPERS and, what I imagined to be, semi-functional brakes. Mind you, activating the wipers would have been a perfunctory gesture in the torrent. With slippery and flooded roads to navigate; potholes to negotiate; open gutters to avoid; (By His Grace) the driver miraculously managed to arrive at the destination with his cargo intact.

Abena

Ghana Music

Exercise Patience

Each morning, you are ripped out your dreams of blue cheese and Australian Shiraz with a ‘Marioooooo!!!’. Aunty Sylvia is in a really bad mood today and she continues to bellow out ‘Mario, blah blah blah blah blah’ (something I imagine to mean ‘get your school uniform on you little rascal and make sure you brush your teeth, we don’t want you losing your teeth before you’re 12’.) Your alarm is not supposed to sound for another hour at 6.15am so you decide to place your head under the pillow to muffle the racket outside.

When you eventually get out of bed, you rush around dressing, eating breakfast and packing your things simultaneously. 'If I get out as soon as possible, maybe the tro tro will be there'. So you rush out the door, waving hello to everyone in the compound as you run to the lorry station. You reach the station to discover the tro ro is not at all there. Instead a queue has formed - 25 people deep - anticipating its appearance for the last 30 minutes. You have grown accustomed to waiting, so you join the queue and open your book to kill time.

Hang on, it’s Monday. You won’t really be able to read your book because you notice the local Pastor setting up. Plugging in a set of huge speakers and adjusting the dials of his 3D Audio Professional Mixer, you’d think he’s organising a bloc party. To him it may be a party, but to others, his street sermon is deafeningly loud. There are moments when you’re glad you don’t speak Twi. Nevertheless, his sermon is lively and tolerated by the crowd, even well received by some. The fact that he plays music probably increases his popularity and passersby dash him a cedi or two.

Some 40 minutes later, the tro tro finally arrives and people board the 1970s van in an orderly fashion whilst a few impatient men use their physical build to their advantage by jumping the queue. As on all tro tros and taxis in Ghana, this one has a motto plastered on the back window ‘Exercise Patience’.

To avoid peak hour traffic, the driver decides to take a slightly different route but the passengers won’t have a bar of it. ‘I have to alight at Airport area’ protests one lady, ‘if you go this way, you won’t pass my stop’. ‘Don’t go this way, the traffic will be worse’, shouts another. After a group discussion involving almost all of the 15 people on board, the driver accepts group consensus and sticks to the usual route.

A bumpy 40 minutes later, you arrive at your stop which you signal to the conductor by shouting ‘mate, bus stop’ and jump out the side door of the van. A quick check of the watch indicates you’re half an hour late to work and you curse the tro tro. Sweating and hot, you arrive at work and apologise for, yet again, being late. Your colleagues don’t react and look at you confusedly as to why you’re so flustered. ‘Lateness is not a crime’ they’re probably thinking.

It is difficult to judge how productive your day will be. Ghana Electricity may turn off the power with no apparent warning because the landlord hasn’t paid the bills. Or the water may run out. Perhaps the meeting you scheduled, may start one hour late. No matter what happens, you come to appreciate the infectious Ghanaian laugh and to EXERCISE PATIENCE.

Abena

If it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down.

The latest craze in Labadi is called H2O. Water? A luxury item? That's right. I too had foolishly thought that the ancient Romans had resolved this problem a long time ago with elaborate waterways and beautiful aqueducts, but here we are in Africa in 2010, back to square one. Turn on the tap... nothing. Not even a drop. I like to think I'm pretty easy going with most things. No electricity, bring out the candles. No Internet, read a book. No chocolate, eat some fruit. No water. I have finally found the one thing that blows my fuse, instantly, and it doesn't go unnoticed. 'Calm down', Abena tells me. 'It's not that bad. I'm sure the water will be back tomorrow.' I admire her optimism. As for me it's all gloom and doom. I have just come home from work and after sitting on the trotro on a hot afternoon I feel like having a shower. No can do. My next urge is to go to the toilet followed by the realisation that I won't be able to flush. Hang on, I think to myself, there should still be water in the cistern for one more flush. Unfortunately I'm not the first one to figure out the mechanics of the toilet. The cistern is empty. Instead of solutions my brain comes up with more problems. The 'I'm thirsty nerve' is next in line and fires off signals that make me head to the kitchen, get out a glass and turn on the tap. Today the only thing coming out of that tap is disappointment. You would think I had figured out by now that turning on the tap isn't going to magically produce water, but it takes my brain surprisingly long to adapt. To its credit my brain is slowly switching to solution mode. How about the milk in the fridge? Great! Great until the milk pores out in lumps, most likely the result of yesterday's power outage. Not to worry, here's another problem to deal with... I'm hungry. I turn to the fridge again and pull out a cold pineapple, get the knife and cut my finger. Back over to the tap to rinse off the blood and clean my dirty hands. Then I realise my hands are dirty because there is NO WATER. With a feeling of resignation and a sense of despair I sink into the chair behind me. Cocos comes in and tells me that Mama informed her that the water had been off since Monday. The reason why we still had water for the last couple of days is our water tank on top of the house. Until now, precisely, and the whole time we had no idea that we were depleting our only reserve. Abena comes in. 'I'm sure it will be back tomorrow', she says. 'Tomorrow!' I throw my arms up in desperation. 'It's been out all week!'. 'No need to panic', she tells me calmly. 'I'm sure it will be back soon. You just need to be a little patient.' 'There's a reason why they call their children Patience here', she adds wisely. 'Well, how about they start calling their kids Fixit or Yeswecan', is all I have to offer. I have learnt to cope with no electricity and for a serious Internet addict like myself I have coped admiringly well with the occasional loss of connectivity and resulting lack of zeros and ones. But water will be a real test of character. Or should I say 'test of survival'. After all there is a reason why there is no life on Mars and that reason is water. And as much as NASA is trying to find water on our little red neighbour I am convinced there would be more value in those boys looking for water in Labadi. That would give us some water and them, after decades of searching for water on Mars, a real sense of achievement.

Coconomics

So here's a little story from the street...

Got off the trotro in front of my work and stopped by my favourite coconut vendor. He greets me every day with a smile so big it makes the sun appear from behind the clouds. I sat down on his bench in the morning heat, drinking and munching on my coconut. I asked him about his business, which proved quite insightful. He sells 100 coconuts a day at 50 peswas each. So he makes 50 cedi per day, which sounds ok until I realised that the poor guy pays 40 cedi for his produce. So he's left with 10 cedi per day or somewhere between 200 and 300 cedi per month, which is not much considering he's standing by the roadside all day, chops 100 coconuts at 30+ degrees and has to pull his cart half way across the city.

Puts our complaint into perspective when we were asking for an increase in the allowance because we struggled to live on what we were payed! And the guy probably has a family to feed as well.

So I started paying him 1 cedi for the coconut and will think hard about haggling with street vendors in the future :)

Kwame

Photos - Clean Up the World Day

This was one crazy event. The Australian high commissioner decided to bring clean up Australia day to Ghana. Sadly we picked the worst day of the year. I think the pictures tell the story better than words...

http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100918CleanUpTheWorld#5522079258689806610

Photos - Prue's Photos

here some more pictures, this time from Prue's camera:

http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100912FantasFollyPrue#5520469041356517250

Photos - Carmen's Photos

Hi guys, here a few random photos I got off Carmen's camera:

http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100919CarmenSPictures#5520464827366850674

Working hard...

I realised today that I am one quarter through my volunteering assignment - three weeks of which I sat twiddling my thumbs waiting for my broken PC to get fixed. Meanwhile Kwame built two websites, one for an HIV/AIDS treatment and prevention NGO, another for an orphanage, and managed to find a third assignment to build a smart phone pricing application for farmers and co-operatives. The other volunteers and I have concluded that his IT skills are in more demand than all of ours combined.
Carmen has spent her first month at UNIFEM (a gender advocacy agency of the UN) reading piles of notes, brochures and reports on gender rights and HIV/AIDS prevention whilst her supervisor was away on annual leave. Upon her supervisor’s return, she will be assisting UNIFEM in incorporating gender equality into the national policy framework on HIV/AIDS. Kath also had a very quiet start to her assignment at AFRRI (a farm radio initiative funded by the Melinda and Bill Gates Foundation) waiting for some work whilst her colleagues were out in the field collecting data which she will then integrate for donor reporting. Leah has probably been the busiest of all of as she was thrown in the deep end by her supervisor and founder of an anti-child labour NGO called Challenging Heights. She has been involved in almost every facet of the NGO from fund raising to attending child rights conferences.
My assignment with Theatre for a Change has been an interesting and varied experience. The NGO’s accountant was fired a day before my arrival and, instead, I was swiftly appointed to the role. This explains why I was writing cheques on my first day! However, the role has been varied enough to keep me interested. I am helping my supervisor build partnerships with other theatre based organisation in Europe. I have also written fund raising proposals and presented to potential donors. Corporate Social Responsibility is surprisingly well established in Ghana and we received a welcome reception from one of the major telecommunication carriers to fund an educational radio drama project.
On the capacity building front, I have been promised that a new accountant will be recruited and I am to fill the role temporarily and train the new recruit when they start.
What I have come to realise is that we’re all here to build human relationships. I’m not really here to build financial reporting systems but to exchange stories with my supervisor on how opposites are worlds are, to laugh while he and his PA sing about how much tea I consume, to lend an ear to the photocopier technician telling me about his aspirations to get a slice of Ghana's anticipated oil wealth, and to help a colleague celebrate his wedding day with as many handshakes and dance moves I can handle.

Abena

Photos - Fantas Folly

More photos, this time from our long weekend at Fantas Folly (Cape Three Points) on the west coast close to Ivory Coast. Great place, awesome food (for once!) and very relaxing...

http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100912FantasFolly#5516719255303245618

My Day - Part 2

“Thirdsev, thirdsev, thirdsev, thirdsev, third-sev.” “Excuse me, is this the trotro to thirty seven military hospital?” “Thirdsev, thirdsev, thirdsev, thirdsev, third-sev” he repeats as if he had just answered my question. I keep staring at him with a puzzled look on my face. He points inside the trotro. Hesitating briefly as I'm still waiting for an answer, I follow his instructions and step inside. “Obroni!” somebody cries out excitedly as they see a white man crawling into the vehicle. I see a few kids giggling in the back waving their hands at me. Despite its limited size there are nearly twenty people crammed inside this trotro, a vehicle slightly larger in size than a VW combi. Realising that there is no space left I turn around to exit the vehicle when somebody suddenly folds out another seat and gets me to sit down. Here I am, the last sardine in the trotro can. The mate knocks on the outside of the vehicle, folds out yet another chair, sits down and slams the door shut in one singular, well rehearsed motion. The driver puts in the first gear, the engine howls and the trotro jolts into action. The black smoke billowing out of the exhaust pipe envelopes the cars behind in a veil of black. I'm still not sure where this trotro is headed but decide to stay calm, lean back and relax. Unfortunately I'm already off balance when I realise that my seat has no back rest. The lady behind me is a little more attentive and pushes me back onto my seat. A little embarrassed I turn my head to thank her. She points me to the front where the mate is now standing semi upright with a bunch of notes and coins in his hand and his head squashed against the roof to keep his balance. He's collecting money and points at me as I'm trying to recapture my composure. I pass a note to the passenger in front of me and my money floats towards the mate like a rock star crowd-surfing at a concert. A few seconds later my change floats back towards me over everyones' head. I do not know how the mate figured out the exact amount of my fare without knowing my destination, but since he only charged me 40 peswas there is no need to argue. The trotro is slowly approaching full speed and we're cruising along on the way to my work. With little else to do I start looking around the cabin marveling at the décor inside. The driver is either a big Chelsea fan, as there are at least three stickers plastered across the windscreen or trying to prevent the crack in the window from widening. A fourth sticker for the local football team as well as the Ghanaian flag and some faded registration sticker seem to have been carefully placed to mend the crack. For good measure a cross is dangling from the rear view mirror, hoping the Lord will do his bit to prevent major investments for overdue repairs. There is no shortage of slogans on the vehicle that highlight the importance of faith over good grammar: 'God time is best', 'No sweat, no sweet', 'Blessed you enterprise', etc. All of a sudden my heart jumps as we seem to be suspended in mid air. I look out the window and see that the tarred road has come to an end, drops off abruptly and the highway we were on turns into a dirt road. For a second I feel like being on a plane that missed the runway, when the vehicle crashes back to the ground with a loud thud, then bounces back into the air after hitting a bump before gravity pulls it back into the next pothole. Everyone on the trotro is shaken wildly up and down, left and right in synchronised movements reminiscent of crash test dummies in super slow motion. The driver hangs suspended between his seat and the gear lever but he manages to keep one hand on the steering wheel and skilfully navigates the trotro around the next potholes lined up on the road in front of us. After a few seconds of inaction my heart starts pumping again and my brain signals that I'm sitting more on, than next to my fellow passenger. I move back onto my seat, while everyone else is busy fixing their hair or recovering their possessions. A few moments later everything seems to be back in order. The driver has regained control of himself and the vehicle and now sits back in his chair as proud and upright as the king on his stool. “Maaaet! Baaastop.” somebody shouts from the back. “Baaastop”, the mate relays the message from the back to the driver. The driver breaks and pulls over at the bus stop. How on earth is the guy in the back going to get out of this vehicle, I think to myself. The mate slides the door open and jumps out of the car. Then the guy in front of me leaves the vehicle and folds his chair back up to make way for me. The lady behind me gives me a nudge to indicate that I need to move. In clear breach of trotro etiquette, I forget to fold up my chair as I exit the vehicle, which gets the lady behind me grumbling. She reluctantly folds the chair up for me and exits the vehicle. This procession continues until the guy in the back finds a passage to squeeze out past the remaining passengers. After he has managed to disembark the process starts in reverse, except everyone moves one place further to the back leaving the old guy at the front with an empty seat next to him, space he happily claims for himself. Eager to fill the spare capacity the mate starts shouting again: “Thirdsev, thirdsev, thirdsev, thirdsev” and sure enough he finds another passenger willing to join in the fun. The door re-opens and to the horror of the old guy at the front, an elephant of a woman steps inside. As she swings her behind around her massive boobs nearly knock the guy out, before she comes crashing down on the bench accompanied by a crushing noise that makes me shudder. I'm hoping it's the bench and not the old guys thigh that just cracked. To the mate's delight the vehicle is again filled to capacity and the trotro is back on the road. I'm watching the scenery outside when the driver abruptly stops the vehicle on the side of the road. Without uttering a word he jumps out of the vehicle, unbuttons his pants and in clear sight of everyone on and off the vehicle he has a good old wee. People break out in laughter and there is a big cheer as he re-enters the vehicle and resumes his day job. Moments later the trotro is flying along the road again and I continue inspecting the inside of the vehicle. There is rust everywhere. Panels with holes welded onto older panels with more holes, often three layers thick. The benches are screwed onto the chassis with rusty screws that would barely sustain the strain of an emergency breaking action, but then there is a good chance the breaks would fail before the screws give way. Why fix anything if you can pray for good fortune, I think to myself and briefly contemplate saying some prayers myself. Another loud bang and a metallic screeching sound send my heart rate back up to 200. The door has disappeared! I turn around and sure enough the whole side panel is sliding along the road behind us. The driver pulls over and with the help of the mate the door is quickly collected and put back in place. Obviously not the first time this has happened and nothing short of a broken axle or lost tyre is going to stop these guys. Still on an adrenalin high and in hysterics I'm wondering how long this fix will last. The next pothole answers my question and convinces pilot and co-pilot that this problem requires a little more than duck tape to fix. Always ready for the unexpected they find another cunning solution. This time the door is placed on the roof of the trotro. After a quick inspection our two engineers are happy to resume the trip without even tying the door down. As we navigate around town I'm waiting for the door to fly off the top of the vehicle at any moment, but to my surprise the door remains in place, even on the last sharp bend as we turn into our destination, a large bus depot filled with hundreds of other fellow travellers and feeble trotros. Squeezing my way out of the trotro my knees feel like jelly and I wonder if Ghanaians have a special word for a white man that looks so pale he's practically transparent.

Another Website

Got roped into creating another website for an orphanage in the Volta region. If anyone's curious, here's the new site:

http://www.anjacharityfoundation.org/

Food

I arrived in Ghana with what I thought was an open mind about food. I was keen to try anything that was served on a plate, a plastic bag (as it is here) or in a banana leaf.

By the second week I had declared a ban against Ghanaian food.

Fortunately, six weeks into our stay my stomach and palate are slowly starting to come around to the local cuisine. The bowl of porridge I’d quickly gobbled up this the morning was not enough and my stomach was already grumbling by the time I’d arrived to work. So I headed to the friendly street vendor just outside my office who sells the local breakfast option for $1. This consists of rice boiled with kidney beans topped with spaghetti, chicken (or beef or fish) and hardboiled egg cooked in a spicy tomato sauce. You can ask for a dash of spicy fish paste if you need that extra kick in the morning. So I indulged in a bowl full of ‘waakye’ (pronounced waache) and of course regretted my choice as soon I felt my entire blood supply rush to my tummy in an attempt to digest it. It left me a little lethargic but satisfied.

Lunch options consist of a sour, sticky, dough-like ball served in a watery, oily and spicy stew with cow, goat, chicken or fish. Or I could indulge in more carbohydrates and meat by eating rice with fried chicken or fried fish. For lack of what locals call ‘leaves’ or vegetarian dishes, most foreigners here opt for roadside stands selling barbecued plantain (banana-like fruit) or deep-fried yams (potato-like root vegetable). There’s also the fruitarian’s diet of a whole pineapple or six bananas (Torsten’s daily average) which will get you by until you get home for dinner.

Luckily, the local vegetable produce is cheap and plentiful and we have been cooking up a storm at home. Coconuts, papaya, avocado, cabbage and tomatoes have been the basis of our cooking and we are convinced that we can now open our own Thai inspired street stall. Not sure we’d be willing to sell our hard labour for $1 per serve though...

Abena

Photos - Labadi Festival

Just uploaded some photos of the festival in Labadi the other night:

http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100830LabadiFestival#5512216087586501698

Photos - Ada Foah

Hi guys,

Here some photos of our trip to Ada Foah last weekend. Ada is a village on the coast about 2 hours west of Accra: http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100829AdaFoah#5511472693945706210. Was nice to get away from the city for a couple of days :)

Kwame

My Day - Part 1

“Mario!” The first sunlight is penetrating through the window as I open my eyes. “MARIO!” Mama's shouting is getting louder. I turn over, pull the pillow over my head and try to ignore the many layers of noise penetrating the window from outside. I can hear the Zoom Lion rubbish truck in the distance announcing its presence to the local community by playing the same old, repetitive, high pitched melody. Someone is sweeping just outside our house, so close that I briefly open my left eye just enough to convince myself that the person isn't actually standing in our room. “Maaarioo!”, this time just a little louder, a little sharper, but Mario has no intention of heeding his mother's call. Meanwhile his brother is cranking up the Fugees, killing me softly with his song. His niece is enjoying it so much she joins in “with his song, killing me softly” and even though she has a beautiful voice, I appreciate it a lot more at dusk than dawn. The noise level is even upsetting the rooster so it decides to show everyone who's boss, which in turn upsets the dog, which starts to growl and bark. “Maaaaaaaaaaaaarioooooooooooooooooooo!” mama yells again, making full use of her lung capacity, so much so that I'm fearing her lungs might collapse. She's nearly as angry as me now and if someone gave me the cane stick I'd finish the job for her. I'm starting to develop a real dislike for this kid and I haven't even met him yet. If only he was a little more like his cousin Hubert, an incredibly well disciplined kid, even for Ghanaian standards. Mama wouldn't even need to call Hubert, he would have read her mind instantly and completed the task before she uttered a word. Unlike “MAAAAAAAAAAARIOOOOOOOOOOOO!”. I can hear goats running across the courtyard: “Maaaah, maaah, ...” and chicken rummaging through the dirt. And to round it all off, the pilot on the 6:15 flight to Timbuktu decides to have a real close look at what's going down in Labadi town.

It's time to get up and by Ghanaian standards I'm late. Everyone's day is already in full swing, except for the goat that just got slaughtered and the chicken being plucked. Men sweeping the streets, ladies selling eggs, tomatoes, bread, onions, grains and bofrots. You name it, they sell it, and if they don't the local hawkers will, anything that promises to make a cedi from the strangers passing by. Coconut vendors wheeling their carts through town, supplying everyone with their favourite refreshment. Trotros whizzing people from A to Z, racing around corners and through markets as if there was nobody else on the street. I crawl out of bed, trying not to get entangled in the mosquito net and slowly drag myself to the shower. The water pressure is a joke today, so I kneel down to marginally increase the flow of water coming out of the shower head. It's already hot so I'm thankful for every drop of cold water running down my body. I haven't used the hot water once. As a matter of fact I don't even know if we have any hot water! As I step out of the shower I feel like going straight back in again. I can feel sweat oozing out of my pores the moment I turn off the water. The humidity kills me, which is why I stopped wearing long pants and a shirt to work on day two, swapping the office attire for shorts and t-shirt. Luckily all the volunteers have conspired to wear the same outfit and refuse to compete with the crisp, clean shirts and the beautiful dresses the Ghanaian men and women wear to work every day. I do admire the local office workers, especially my colleague Vincent who wears a suit and tie to work every day. I have no idea how he can bear it and how he will cope when summer comes along in a couple of months. I enter the kitchen and scrape the last bit of peanut butter out of the jar, marvelling at my rate of consumption. It's the end of jar number three in as many weeks. I'm addicted to the stuff! As I devour my toast I discover a coconut in the fridge and a banana on the table. I pull out the bread knife, chop the top off the coconut, pour the cold juice into the blender, add the flesh, banana and honey and eagerly await my next course. After finishing off with some muesli and a fresh papaya I put on my backpack and leave the house. The sun's out, people are smiling, the music is playing “and I think to myself, what a wonderful world”.

Photos - Our house

Hello :)

Here, finally, some photos of our house
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100818Home#5509861248536113378

T

My Work - WAAF website

here's the website I have been working on in the last three weeks: www.waafweb.org

If anyone's interested and has some spare time I would be very interested in getting some feedback :)

Photos - The Butcher

Hi guys,

Here some photos from our house and our neighbours slaughtering a goat (not for the faint hearted!):
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100821Butcher#5508223310054239730

Kwame

Video - Crazy Plant

check this out... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CiinauXOhk

Photos - Tafo

Hi everyone,

Here some photos from our day trip to Tafo on the weekend:
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100815Tafo#5506835022305140114

Kwame

The Great Gatsby

Got up at 6 to catch a ride with Eddie, my boss, to Tafo, a small town north of Accra. He was going there to meet his friends and play some golf, so he invited Magda and me along for the day. We met the guys at 7 and drove for two hours in one of the massive American four wheel drives. Our driver turned out to be a US educated and trained chiropractor who owns practices throughout the country and happens to be surprisingly passionate about his profession. After the first half an hour on the road he turned off the African tunes swinging through the car and put on his favourite chiropractor audio CD collection. Full of useful tips and tricks for the enthusiastic chiropractor. After about 20 minutes he realised that this particular edition was not a great conversation starter and turned it off. Magda and I politely asked a few vaguely chriopractical questions to get the conversation rolling again and it turned out that the guy, who somewhat resembles Barrack Obama, also has the capacity to talk like his lookalike, especially when the conversation is chiropractic in nature. So by the time we reached Tafo two hours later Magda and I were experts in the field. (So if any of you blog enthusiasts have neck or back pain please use the comment section below and we will endeavour to answer your questions or, alternatively, refer you to our new friend.
As we arrived in Tafo it turns out that we were invited for breakfast to the CEO of UT bank, one of Ghana's largest banks. He lives modestly in a mansion in Tafo with swimming pool, outdoor bar, entertainment area and servants to match, all within close proximity of the local golf course. The guys is a bit of a Great Ghanaian Gatsby with the slight difference that he himself likes to 'party hard' (coincidentally also the title of his favourite dance song, as we were to discover later on). Unfortunately we arrived a little late and the other avid golf enthusiasts had already completed their breakfast so with a sandwich in our hands we quickly rushed off to the golf course, which was a rather impressive contrast to bustling Labadi, the suburb we now call home in Accra. The lush green countryside and beautiful African trees provided the perfect backdrop to this tranquil golf course. To my great relief my answer to Eddie's question about my handicap (something along the lines of 'my handicap is that the ball goes backwards more often than forwards') was enough for him to point us in the direction of the pool and the adjoining cocoa plantation as Ghana's high society proceeded to battle it out on the greens. Magda and I then spent most of the afternoon swimming in the pool, wandering through the cocoa plantations as well as the nearby town and wondering why men like chasing balls.
After a couple of hours the gentlemen had finished their final round and it was back to Gatsby's mansion for dinner. While Magda and I were salivating over the thought of a buffet with lobster and champaign, the chefs were busily preparing fufu and groundnut soup. Now as much as I am a fan of egalitarian societies I would much rather the plebs eat lobster and caviar than the kings, and one of them was present, eat fufu and groundnut soup. To our surprise royal fufu is a lot better than the Labadi version. Nevertheless we were relieved to find out that there was another option, which unsurprisingly involved chicken. Chicken, I should mention, is considered a vegetable in Ghana, as we found out several times when we tried to order something vegetarian. Even though we explicitly asked for no meat, we were served some 'vegetarian' dish with chicken.
As the night progressed and alcohol flowed freely the party started in earnest and our host seized the opportunity to show off his dance moves. It is fair to say that Ghanaian people love to dance, with the men often times showing up first on the dance floor, but the Great Ghanaian Gatsby is in a league of his own. The way the CEO of UT bank swings his hips puts even Beyonce to shame and made me pray I wouldn't accidentally be shoved onto the dance floor to exhibit what Magda likes to refer to as 'white man dance'. Soon enough I was shoved onto the dance floor and as I was carefully keeping my distance to Gatsby I couldn't help but wonder if his chiropractor friend had worked some magic on his incredibly elastic vertebrae. After a few more drinks Gatsby was roundly focused on the curves of the young Ghanaian women and it was time for us to head home.

Photos - Accra #2

Hi guys,

Here the next lot of photos from Accra:
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100811Accra#5504835483109180274
(I added some captions below the photos)

Kwame

Dash

“I see you.” He's standing in the middle of the street and he is furious. His big white eyes illuminated by the headlights of the passing vehicles are staring straight at me. “You get out of the taxi up there. I see you!” he barks at me while his torch carefully scans the passengers of the vehicles passing through the blockade. My story no longer makes sense. Not that it ever did. An obroni walking along the highway in the middle of the night, by himself, to meet some friends 'further up the road'. Fat chance. My story starts changing ever so slightly every time I open my mouth as I try to reconcile my 'story' with his observations. I'm lying. I know it. He knows it. But I'm not prepared to conceded just yet. I'm remarkably calm considering I'm surrounded by irate policemen with AK 47s slung around their necks. I realise it wasn't the smartest idea to jump out of the taxi further up the road just because our driver was concerned about being pulled over by the police for carrying too many passengers. Four people in the back was one over the legal limit and most definitely two over the reasonable carrying capacity of the tiny vehicle we crammed into. So I decided to pass the blockade on foot. I managed to pass the police officers, but as I kept walking along the road it became increasingly hard to ignore the voices shouting at me from behind. Once I turned my head it was all over. The policeman coming after me called me back.
So here I am, standing on the roadside wondering what they will do with me. For all I know there's not much I did wrong. Yes, I did exit the taxi, yes, the taxi was carrying more passengers than allowed, and yes, I did try and get the driver out of trouble by jumping out of the taxi. So what? As I'm standing by the roadside I see cars passing by that failed the road worthiness test in some European country decades ago. There are vehicles with cracked windscreens, flat tyres, non-existent suspension, taxi driver's without licenses, car's without lights, tiny trailers loaded with the possessions of an entire Ghanaian family. You name it. And then there's me, a white guy walking along the street. I'm starting to wonder what the fine is for getting out of a taxi and walking along the street, but as I witness all the other traffic infringements passing by I realise that enforcing the rule of law is not what these policemen are here for. Surprisingly it takes me rather long to figure out how this game is played. Even the policeman who keeps coming up to me to ask me more and more detailed questions isn't really interested in playing Sherlock Holmes. He's becoming increasingly frustrated by the amount of time it takes me to figure out the solution to my predicament. Being a nice guy he starts helping me get up to speed. “What you say if I let you go?” he asks. “I would be rather grateful.” I respond perplexed by the sudden twist of events. “Rather grateful” he repeats with a smile on his face. “Rather grateful.” Listening to my own words I realise just how pathetic I sound. “So what if you invite me and my colleague. Some coffee in the morning?” he suggests. Serious? He wants to be my friend? Hang out for coffee tomorrow morning? I'm wondering if he's going to show up with his rifle in case he feels like lunch as well. Then, finally, it dawns on me and I am a little ashamed that it took me twenty minutes to figure it out. My new friend and mentor wants a 'dash', though he gets rather upset when I pull out my wallet. “Come” he says as he pulls me behind one of the parked trucks on the side of the road. “Don't show your money” he tells me sternly. So I randomly pull a note out of my pocket, hoping it hasn't got too many zeros on it. We emerge from behind the vehicle and bid each other farewell with a typical Ghanaian handshake. As I continue my walk along the road I wonder if the intricate Ghanaian handshake was invented for the sole purpose of passing a bribe from one hand to the other.

At the office

Started work this week. First day wasn't what I expected it to be. Three out of the six staff were heading to the field to educate on HIV prevention and I had to issue about 10 cheques to fund their various trips. Not sure why I was issuing cheques but I was happy to be of any help. The NGO I'm working for, Theatre for a Change (http://www.tfacafrica.com/), requires that I implement and train a new recruit on their new financial system. I'm very busy and barely had a lunch break the first two days.

On day three I was very pleased to get half an hour for lunch and I headed down the beach which is only a 5 minute walk from the office. An Aussie surfer would love the waves. However, a strong undercurrent in the Gulf of Guinea claims about 13 lives a year. Combined with the amount of rubbish on the rocky foreshore of the beach, I'm not sure how quickly I'll rush in for a dive.

I really love my new office set up. I'll put up photos soon to best capture the surroundings. Despite the 30 degree heat, there's no aircon. Instead all the windows and doors on the second floor of a large villa are open. A couple of ceiling fans circulate the warm air in the room and my paperwork keeps flying around the place. I finally recognised the logic behind paperweights. In terms of trips to the toilet, I never know how long they may take... I timed my first one perfectly with a water shortage which happens every now and then when taps in Accra run dry. After the toilet wouldn't flush and the basin tap spat a few drops of water, I stood there for a few minutes scratching my head. I decided it was ok to consult my supervisor, Johnson, who smiled and advised I fetch a bucket of water from a large tank (every house has a reservoir) at the back of the building. He must just think I'm totally hopeless!

The villa is situated in a residential zone and the background noise is a medley of children's laughter, babies crying and roosters croaking. The first few days, I couldn't control my giggles whenever a rooster croaked and my supervisor would look over at me and make comments like “was the last chicken you saw frozen and sitting on a supermarket shelf?”. Just as I recovered from my giggles, I get a text from one of the Aussie volunteers who's out in the field this week sharing her latest experience – she'd just witnessed 3 goats being expertly loaded on to an already full tro tro. Tro tros are a form of public transport or really cheap private mini vans packed full of passengers. They are typically about 20 years old and totally beaten up as the tro tro drivers' mission is to abuse the car through as many bumps and pot holes as possible. But they are cheap and plentiful. I wonder how much a goat's fare is?

Accra traffic is horrendous. The worst I've ever seen. In the mornings, another volunteer, Carmen, and I treat ourselves to a taxi which takes one hour to get to work and on the way back home I do it on the cheap in tro tros. It takes me about two to two and a half hours to get back to our hotel! Luckily, we'll be moving to a closer hotel next week whilst we wait for our permanent accommodation to become available. We found a simple two bedroom home with Carmen in a rather poor but lively area of the city. It shares a spacious courtyard with another building which houses a lovely Ghanaian family. Apparently, the mother (otherwise known as "Mama") has a food stall about 20 meters away which should be very convenient :) A Canadian girl was living in the house when we viewed the place and Mama would come in to make sure she was fed and ok. Sounds like home away from home :)

Abena

Photos - Accra

Hi guys,

Just uploaded some photos...
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100801Accra#5500809346084050098

Kwame

Africa Time

After exactly a week in Ghana I've lost it. There are tears rolling out of my eyes and I start laughing like a madman. The girls in the front row turn their heads and look at me as if they had just entered a mental institution. They look at Abena for an explanation, but she has now lost it as well. My uncontrollably laughter is spreading like a disease. One by one the girls are losing their composure, and the car is looking more and more like a patient transport between two mental institutions. I'm trying to explain, but laughter is choking my words, so I point to the back window. The guy outside keeps knocking on the window, trying to sell us super glue. Super glue! Why on earth is there a guy outside running alongside our car in the middle of Accra's busiest highway trying to sell me super glue? Drinks ok, bananas I understand, even the mobile phone top up cards the hawkers sell in the middle of every traffic jam on every street in Accra I am able to comprehend. But this guy has decided to make a living out of selling super glue to passing motorists. I know I shouldn't laugh. It's not funny. The guy is poor and most likely struggles daily to make enough money to buy food. But super glue is just too much for my brain to process and pity has given way to insanity.

It has been a long day. A day we had been looking forward to all week. Our hosts had offered to take us on a day trip to Cape Coast to visit the fortresses built on Ghana's beaches that the European's used in the past centuries to trade slaves. A dark chapter in Ghana's and Europe's history that has now turned into one of Ghana's main tourist attractions. We had to get up at half past five in the morning to beat the traffic on our way out of Accra, but quickly realise that it is impossible to beat traffic at any hour of the day in this city of four million people. We were told that the trip to Cape Coast would take approximately two hours, but at the end of our first two hours we have barely managed to escape the outer suburbs of the city. After three hours the driver pulls up on the side of the road to buy some supplies from the locals selling their produce by the road side. We're welcomed with a big smile as our hosts start haggling over pineapples, bananas and watermelons. I'm very excited by the prospect of eating my first Ghanaian banana and end up having three while Kath has quickly befriended the local kids and starts teaching them some new dance moves. The kids here are gorgeous. Their big smiles, curiosity and playfulness are a winning combination that enchants any visitor and their magic has certainly worked on us. We quickly take some photos and exchange our Cedi for some local produce before we pack up and continue our journey to Cape Coast. After a further two hours drive we finally reach our first destination and realise that the initial two hour estimate was just one more example of what locals refer to as 'Africa time'. Even though we're already hungry our host Annette decides to buy us the tickets for the first major attraction of the day, the Cape Coast canopy walk. After waiting for a couple of minutes the park ranger arrives to guide us through the jungle. It's very refreshing being out in the forest after a week of traffic, markets and millions of people, but the experience doesn't last long. After a few steps through the rainforest we end up at the end of the queue of people lining up for the canopy walk and it will take us another hour before we can finally start the tree top walk. Once we commence the walk the experience is truly spectacular. The walkway is a narrow plank of wood with ropes and mesh on either side for balance and safety. We are told that the walk way can support the weight of two elephants and since there is little else to comfort me 60 metres above the ground I am more than willing to accept the ranger's assurances. The view from up here is magnificent, with the dark green foliage below us, butterflies circling and the rainforest stretching out as far as the eye can see. After carefully putting one foot in front of the other for about 15 minutes we are all a little relieved as we step off the walkway and I wonder if the smiles in our photos will be able to hide the fear in our eyes. On the way back to the car Abena and I buy some fresh coconut, drink the watery milk inside and eagerly peel out the flesh inside after the guy skilfully parts the coconut with his machete. It's a fresh and delicious snack for two ravenous travellers and it doesn't take much to convince us to buy the dark thick syrupy local honey the guys are selling in re-used plastic bottles. I am already excited by the prospect of eating some bread with groundnut paste and honey on our return home. Groundnut paste is essentially the same as peanut butter minus the added oil, salt and sugar. On our return back to the car we are quickly driven to the nearest restaurant for some Ghana cuisine. We have tried lots of Ghana dishes over the last couple of days and the reviews have been mixed. My least favourite was the locals favourite, fufu. I knew I would struggle with this dish from the day my friend described it as a ball of snot in a soup when we were still back home in Melbourne. I tried as hard as I could to put this thought to the back of my mind as I was digging my hands into this big lump of white dough made of cassava. The gooey, dough like texture is hard to get used to even though it really doesn't taste like much at all. I had mine with groundnut soup in the hope that it would somewhat resemble penang curry. Unfortunately it is nothing like my old Thai favourite and I was happy to tick this one off my list of things to do in Ghana, never to look back. Though admittedly I was a little proud that I had finished my bowl as Ghanaians consider it rude to not finish your meal, which is quite a challenge considering most dishes are heavy, starchy and served in gynormous quantities. Some Ghanaian dishes are quite nice and our favourites include red red, a red bean stew served with chicken or fish and plantain, which is similar to an unripe banana fried in some spicy seasoning. I think the one thing I truly miss is chocolate. We may need to look a little harder, but considering that Ghana produces a substantial amount of the world's cocoa you would expect a lot more of the stuff to be available in some form or another. Hopefully we'll find something soon as we are fast running out of our chocolate supplies Barbara gave us before we left Canberra.

After lunch we were fast running out of time and to our disappointment our guides had decided to head back home without showing us the fortresses we were hoping to see. Africa time and Accra traffic had once again limited our ability to achieve the few things we had planned to do. So it was back in the car for another five hours squished into the back of our host's four wheel drive. Luckily a five hour drive in Ghana is nothing like the monotonous, uneventful driving through the Australian countryside. Driving in Ghana is more like playing a computer road racing game, with one life, your own, and handing over the controls to your local Ghanaian friend who you hope has acquired sufficient experience over the years. Luckily for us our Ghanaian driver, Kwame, is an accomplished driver who over many years has learnt the art of negotiation with street vendors running next to his cars while talking on his mobile and working out the exact amount of change, as well as circumventing potholes, goats and other obstacles while driving at 110 through the village. Most importantly though, Kwame is a really nice guy and an incredibly patient driver. How else would you be able to drive some volunteers around for ten hours when you know you're facing another two hour commute back home.

Ghanaians love to laugh out loud. The highlight of orientation week has been Twi language lessons and generally listening to WUSC (volunteer organisation) staff talk and laugh about their county. They speak with a mixture of pride and frustration. They love their culture, food and traditions but acknowledge injustices between the haves and have nots, corruption and drawbacks of their government. One of the WUSC staff summed it up beautifully by stating that Ghanaians, and perhaps African generally, survive on hope and hoping. Something that is broken today may be fixed tomorrow.

Everything functions on a shoestring here but people have an ingenious and cunning sense of survival. Whether attempting to keep your change or selling the most random assortment of goods by the side of the road. It's subsistence living but somehow they keep the smile on their faces. Ghanaians must be one of the most friendly people.

My intention was to recount the last week of events, but I haven't even managed to recount one full day! So all I can say for now is we're well and looking forward to more Accra action in the days to come. Hope you're all well and looking forward to hearing from you.

Kwame (Saturday born man) & Abena (Tuesday born lady)